


home is where i want to be (but i guess i’m already there)

by moonrocks



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: College, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Locked Out, M/M, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27386491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonrocks/pseuds/moonrocks
Summary: Three days before spring break, Stewy and Kendall get locked out of their dorm. Emotions complicate things.
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	home is where i want to be (but i guess i’m already there)

Three days before spring break, the air in Cambridge is cool and heavy, begging to be cut apart by an early April heat. Stewy hugs his jacket tighter around him as he follows Kendall through campus, the streetlights burning out above them to light their path below. Harvard Yard is uncharacteristically empty tonight, even for two in the morning. The usual stragglers and late-night studiers are absent, and Stewy hears his footsteps fall loudly against the cobblestones to break up the quiet. The sound seeps inside his ears, punctuated by Kendall: sighing, laughing, keeping in step beside him.

Kendall is rambling about nothing in particular, like he has been all night. The new Nas album, the Lampoon, a girl he met at a party last week who never gave him her number, his exam schedule that he keeps forgetting to write down. He’s talking louder than necessary, mildly buzzed from one too many gin and tonics or whatever he was drinking back at the bar. His voice echoes off the sides of the ruddy-bricked buildings as they head towards their dorm, following the path that weaves inwards and around the vicinity of the yard.

“It’s a nice night out,” Kendall says as they cut through. “Don’t you think?”

It’s weirdly sincere, too sincere just to be obligatory small talk meant to fill up space. Stewy looks over as Kendall looks upwards. The sky above them is opaque, either diffused with light pollution or a cloak of clouds thick enough to blot out the stars. Their sneakers squeak in the grass. It’s slick with rain, and when the wind rustles the trees Stewy can hear droplets fall loose from their branches.

“Yeah, sure, it’s nice. If you’re a snail maybe,” Stewy says, grimacing. “It’s not really spring break weather, Ken. Not sure we’re gonna see MTV setting up camera crews around here any time soon.”

Kendall snorts. “Uh, well, it _is_ spring, dude. And it’s nice.”

They reach the back entrance of their dorm. The area is barely lit, but Stewy could find their way through with his eyes closed if he wanted to. This place they moved into in August feels overly familiar by now, each uneven step or divot in the sidewalk a birthmark Stewy has memorized.

He likes it, despite the rooms being old, cramped, and drafty, and the facilities being communal. There was no loophole his parents could exploit to get him out of the long-held Harvard tradition of on-campus living, so Stewy learned to adjust. Kendall did too, even though he cried the first week of classes and pretended otherwise despite chronic red eyes and a desk covered in tissues. Eventually, the homesickness subsided, and they carved out a place here between the manicured lawns and colonial pastiche. Harvard is a new home, or something like it. Something that belongs to them at least, away from the brownstone townhouses overridden with staff and the stuffy Hampton summer homes. A temporary escape, theirs, but temporary nonetheless.

Come May, the school year will be over and they’ll both be back in New York. Kendall has been counting on getting through his exams without any F’s and running back to Waystar and daddy with his first-year business expertise. But Stewy tries not to think about it, any of it.

They huddle together by the door as Stewy reaches into his pocket to grab his keys, but his fingers find his wallet and nothing else. He checks his other pocket: a discarded gum wrapper, some change, a condom.

“Oh, fuck,” Stewy says under his breath.

He rifles through his jacket again—which he just bought last week—before plunging his hands into his jean pockets, front and back. There’s nothing in them but lint. Stewy pauses. He mentally retraces his steps from the bar back to his dorm room where he and Kendall had drunk a few beers and listened to music before heading out. Kendall had been in an especially good mood for some reason, handsier than normal even with Stewy’s roommate sitting on his bed five feet away from them. Stewy had left the door unlocked like he usually does when his roommate is around. He can remember Kendall’s arm snug around his shoulders, guiding him through the hallway, but not where he put his fucking keys. 

Stewy groans. “Shit.”

He must have been too distracted to grab them on the way out. They’re probably buried somewhere in the pocket of his winter coat, which he’s been wearing less since the weather got warmer. Stewy rolls his eyes at himself then holds his hand out towards Kendall.

“Uh, what?” Kendall asks, mouth hanging slightly open. 

He looks a bit flushed and drunk, leaning against the brick, hazy and pale in the reflection of the streetlights. Stewy narrows his eyes at him. 

“Keys? Dude?” He impatiently wiggles his fingers. “This means keys.”

Kendall falters. “Uh, keys? I—I thought you’d have yours, dude.”

A beat, then Stewy slowly lowers his hand, his stomach sinking along with it. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Ken, are you fucking serious, man? Where are your keys?”

“I dunno.” Kendall shrugs, palms turned outwards. “I, uh, didn’t think I’d need them. You always have yours—” His eyes widen. “Wait, what, you don’t have them?”

Stewy feels a pang. The back of his neck flushes pink to mirror the anger burning behind his ribs. He should have known Kendall wouldn’t bother bringing his keys with him to the bar. Half of the time, Kendall’s roommate lets him after several minutes of incessant knocking, or Stewy uses the spare Kendall gave him the first time he lost his keys in the wash. The other half of the time, Kendall doesn’t even need them. If they leave solo after keggers and frat parties, they usually end up in Stewy’s bed anyways, only partly aware of how they got there. 

Stewy feels like an idiot. He should have double-checked like he always does.

“No, dude, I must’ve left them in my room. This is a new jacket, I—” 

Stewy grits his teeth, remembering the press of Kendall’s fingers against his shoulder blade. Frustrated, he yanks on the door handle on the off-chance someone might have left it open. It jiggles, but it’s very clearly locked. Stewy doubts it will budge any time soon. 

“Fuck, what the fuck are we supposed to do?” he huffs, then toes the door with his sneaker. 

Kendall takes a step towards him, and for a moment, Stewy thinks he might lay a comforting hand on his arm. Instead, Kendall needlessly tries the door for himself: still locked. Kendall stares at it before peering down the walkway. 

“Okay, I mean, someone’s gotta come by at some point,” Kendall says. “They can let us in.”

Stewy raises his eyebrows at him. “Jesus, Ken. At two in the fucking morning? Right before spring break? The campus is deserted, bro.”

Kendall sighs. “Well, we can go back to the bar? Can’t we?”

Stewy tugs up his sleeve to check his watch. “It’ll be closed by now.”

“Fine.” Kendall presses his lips into a tight line. His cheeks look gummy when he pouts, like they’re made out of Play-Doh. The skin between his eyebrows is creased, his bottom lip protruding. “Okay, payphone then? The library? We could call campus police. They’ll have spares.”

Stewy scoffs. “Campus police? Right after leaving a bar? Since when did we turn twenty-one, dude.” He shoots Kendall a look. “I bet you have, like, three fake IDs in your wallet right now, at least. Along with, y’know, illicit substances. If they ask us questions—if this gets back to our parents—”

Stewy stops himself mid-sentence. Kendall goes quiet at that, his eyes darting to the pavement. A call from the school administration to Logan Roy could mean hell—or worse—for Kendall. Stewy swallows, tempering his anger, knowing he went too far. He leans against the wall. The bricks scrape against his jacket. Kendall settles in the space beside him. He shrinks in on himself, tugging his jacket around his shoulders. Stewy looks at him then looks away, pushing the guilt somewhere unreachable so he can think up some other solution.

“Alright, is your roommate around?” Stewy asks. “He has a cell phone, right? Could we call him?” 

Kendall shakes his head, and Stewy feels what little hope he had get sucked out of him. “Left for break this morning. His parents were flying him out to Miami, I think. What about yours?”

Stewy presses his tongue against his teeth. “He’s around, but I don’t have his number.”

Kendall lifts his head. “You don’t have your roommate’s number?”

“I never asked for it,” Stewy says, shrugging. 

“What? Why?”

“Because he’s a fucking dick, bro.”

Kendall looks offended. “Well, I think he’s nice.”

“You think everyone’s nice,” Stewy snaps, then immediately regrets it. He looks down and kicks a rock near his shoe. It feels colder out already, the sky still heavy with what might be rain clouds. Stewy frowns. “I guess we’ll just have to wait then.”

Kendall crosses his arms over his chest. “Fine.”

Stewy has to suppress the urge to audibly huff at Kendall, electing to chew on the inside of his lip instead. A minute of quiet passes between them, but it feels much longer than that. Stewy keeps his eyes on the walkway, still void of pedestrians, until he hears a sniffle to his right. Stewy glances over at Kendall and sees him rubbing his runny nose, the tip pink from the cold. Kendall looks like a cartoon character, slightly shivering in his grey Harvard hoodie and unbuttoned denim jacket, arms wrapped around himself. Stewy half-expects his teeth to start chattering.

Stewy sighs. He looks around their vicinity for a better place to wait this thing out. His eyes land on a patch of grass beneath one of the many oak trees that line the Yard. The area is partly concealed by a cluster of bushes. With any luck, it will be partly dry from its proximity to the roof. 

Stewy turns back to Kendall. He reaches over to pull Kendall’s hoodie over his head, hoping that’ll help with the cold. Kendall doesn’t say anything, just sniffles again. Stewy tries not to feel guilty. He gathers the drawstrings of Kendall’s hoodie in his hand and gently tugs them, trying to inject a bit more playfulness into their shitty situation. 

“Come on, we’re downwind,” Stewy says. “Let’s go sit over there.”

Kendall nods and follows him to the patch of grass. It’s drier than the rest of the lawn, but Stewy still feels residual rainwater seep into the ass of his jeans when he sits down. Kendall sits beside him, bringing his knees up to his chest. He looks unbearably small. 

Stewy feels a pang again. “Better?” 

“Yeah, a bit,” Kendall mumbles. 

Stewy has to stop himself from putting an arm around Kendall’s shoulders and tugging him closer. More silence. Stewy listens to the distant plink of raindrops, then Kendall lifts his head from his arm.

“Are you—are you mad at me?” he asks.

Stewy looks over at him, but he’s still staring at the ground. “No, Ken, I’m not mad at you.” Stewy sighs. “What am I? Six years old?”

Kendall scoffs. “Well, dude, you _sound_ mad, so . . .”

Stewy feels his stomach stir. “Okay, what do you want me to say? That I’m ever so fucking pleased that you never bring your fucking keys with you and now we’re locked out?” 

“So this is my fault?” Kendall snaps. 

Stewy slumps back against the trunk of the tree, the bark grinding into his spine through his jacket. He stares at the locked door ten feet away from them. They should be making their way to Kendall’s dorm room by now, falling into bed together while secure in the fact that his roommate is gone for the week. Stewy should be pressing Kendall into his lumpy twin mattress, unafraid of interruption, lips hungrily on his neck and hands possessively digging into his waist. Stewy should be getting Kendall to make noises they can think about this summer when an anxious hand job is all they can slip in between Waystar corporate events and schmoozy dinner parties. Stewy should be making Kendall come, giving him some much-needed distraction from whatever bullshit his dad is currently putting him through. A high without the help of coke or molly or nicotine or whatever their drug of choice is at that moment.

Stewy is dreading it. In a couple of months, he is going to lose all this, if not permanently then at least temporarily. Even if Harvard will be waiting for them next September. Even if Kendall will be okay back home. Even if Stewy can deal with the disapproving looks from the Roys and the double-edged questions from his parents. Surrounded by the persistent familiarity of what they finally got away from, the inevitability will feel like a lifetime away. 

Stewy shakes his head at himself, his anger fizzling out. Something much harder to sift through falls in line to replace it. Needing a distraction, Stewy grips a patch of grass by his knee and tugs. The strands tear. He fiddles with them before defeatedly letting them fall from his fingers into the dirt. 

“Sorry, Ken.” Stewy swallows. He tries to find Kendall’s eyes, but they’re hidden beneath the hood of his sweatshirt. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that, okay? It’s not your fault. I know it’s not your fault.”

Stewy reaches out and places a gentle hand on the small of Kendall’s back. Kendall finally looks at him, his eyes droopy and round, mouth creased in a mopey frown.

“You think so?” he asks.

Stewy nods. “Yeah. Of course, man.”

Kendall sniffles again, and Stewy wonders if it’s the cold or something else this time. He can’t think about it very long before Kendall is clumsily shifting onto his knees, reaching for him in the dark. A hand comes to grip Stewy’s jacket, yanking him forward. Stewy nearly yelps when Kendall’s lips meet his, their teeth and noses bumping awkwardly as Kendall unskillfully presses their mouths together.

Stewy softens once the initial surprise passes, parting his lips for Kendall’s tongue as Kendall deepens the kiss. Kendall sighs and his breath tastes like the bright green mints he grabbed from a dish at the bar. It makes Stewy smile as he breathes in the scent of him: inexpensive body spray and whatever shaving cream Kendall uses to get rid of the insignificant stubble that has been growing on his jaw. His lips are soft, full, and pliable, and his hair is much longer than it was at the beginning of the year. It flops onto his forehead, tickling Stewy’s brow as they kiss. Stewy notices as he cards his fingers through it, then rests his palms on either side of Kendall’s face.

Kendall is immediately familiar to him, every part of his body known to Stewy’s hands like the ins and outs of his childhood home or the route they used to take walking home from school together. Stewy refuses to lose this, to lose _him_.

He hungrily kisses Kendall back, dropping a hand to his waist to urge Kendall into his lap. Kendall obliges. He straddles Stewy’s thighs, grinding up eagerly against him. They fall backwards together to settle in the grass. The ground is wet and the roots of the oak tree are uncomfortably digging into his back, but Stewy finds it hard to care with Kendall humming into his mouth. Stewy grazes his teeth against Kendall’s bottom lip as they desperately press into one another, trying to find some recourse while still fully clothed. Stewy feels himself getting hard from the friction, the front of his jeans tenting. Kendall’s erection brushes up against Stewy’s thigh, and it suddenly feels a lot warmer out than it did a few seconds before.

“Stew—”

Kendall lets out a muffled moan as he breaks the kiss to reach between them. His hand brushes the front of Stewy’s jeans, fingers finding the obvious outline of his erection. Stewy swallows a groan that would probably draw attention to them if anyone else was out here. The cluster of bushes and the tree partially conceals them, but if someone were to come up the walkway, it would be game over.

The anxiety born from that realization is easy to ignore as Kendall continues to clumsily palm him. Stewy smirks, slightly pulling his face away from Kendall’s so he can look him in the eye.

“Fuck, Ken. Did I say something right?” Stewy asks breathily, his eyebrows raised. “Because it’d be good to know for future reference. Put that line in the bank. Cash it out whenever I need it.”

Kendall laughs, but his gaze remains heavy. “I dunno, Stew. I just—” He sighs, and his hand tugs at Stewy’s zipper. It moves down an inch. “Wanna touch you.”

“Wait, here?” Stewy asks, looking around. “In the middle of the fucking Yard?”

Kendall doesn’t say anything, just kisses Stewy again. It’s a clear enough affirmation, and Stewy gives in. He can’t argue with Kendall, especially not right now. He can’t even find it in himself to wonder if anyone can see them, or what might happen if they somehow get caught. Kendall tends to bring out Stewy’s impulsive side in moments like these. It’s difficult to think things through when he’s distracted by Kendall’s warmth, his mouth, his hands working open the front of his jeans.

Stewy’s cock strains against the fabric of his underwear. He needs Kendall’s hand around him to offer him some relief. The heat building inside him is already threatening to break, even without Kendall touching him beneath his clothes. Kendall finally unzips Stewy’s jeans as Stewy catches Kendall’s lips with his own again. With a sigh, Kendall slips his hand past the waistband of Stewy’s underwear, then wraps his fist around his cock. Kendall stills for a moment before moving his hand, breaking the kiss to look at Stewy.

Stewy takes it all in. Kendall’s palm is slightly cool and damp from the grass, but Stewy finds it hard to shrink away. Kendall still looks pale and not quite opaque in the fuzzy glow of the streetlights, his eyes glassy and wide like crystal playground marbles. Saliva, maybe Stewy’s or maybe his own, beads on Kendall’s bottom lip, and his hair is a tangled mess from Stewy’s reckless fingers. Stewy doesn’t want to get sentimental, but something comes over him as he lays there, looking up at Kendall with no stars behind his head to redirect his attention towards. He reaches out and swipes his thumb across Kendall’s cheek. He’s warm and real and present and his for a little while longer.

Stewy loves him.

Fuck, he really loves him.

Stewy pulls Kendall closer. They kiss again as Kendall begins to stroke him underneath his clothes. His hand moves slowly at first, then increases in pace as Stewy moans his consent against Kendall’s lips. His touches grow clumsier as Stewy desperately continues to kiss him, hands digging into Kendall’s bony waist beneath his hoodie. Eventually, his lips find their way to Kendall’s neck. Stewy nips at the skin there, wanting to leave a mark that everyone will be able to see.

“I was thinking about this all night,” Stewy says shakily against Kendall’s shoulder as he feels himself getting closer. “You and me. Like this.”

He bites back a groan as he feels Kendall nod against him.

“Yeah, Stew.” Kendall’s breath falls warmly across Stewy’s skin. “Yeah, me too. Always.”

It takes embarrassingly little time for Stewy to come after that. His toes curl in his sneakers and he lets go, his orgasm washing over him in a wave. He shuts his eyes and moans quietly into the fabric of Kendall’s jacket, spilling into Kendall’s tightened fist, making a mess of his briefs. Kendall’s hand stills, but Stewy can feel him carefully drag his fingers across the sensitive head of his cock. It almost makes Stewy cry out. Kendall stifles it with another uncoordinated kiss, removing his hand from Stewy’s underwear and pulling away.

When Stewy eventually comes to, he realizes that his eyes are wet. He blinks and they blear with moisture, his eyelashes pilling. Sitting up, Stewy roughly rubs them with the back of his hand. Luckily, Kendall is too busy wiping his palm off in the grass to notice. Stewy watches him, trying to ignore the near-sob burrowing itself someplace in his chest. He tugs Kendall back on top of him at the earliest opportunity, making quick work of Kendall’s zipper. Kendall is partly soft by now, but it never takes much for Stewy to get him hard again. Stewy palms Kendall’s cock through his underwear and immediately feels him stiffen.

Stewy smirks. “Okay, your turn.”

Kendall huffs impatiently into the crook of Stewy’s neck and Stewy laughs. “Then stop teasing me, asshole.”

“Alright, whatever you say.”

Stewy wastes less time than Kendall did, hand sneaking past the waistband of Kendall’s boxer-briefs to grip his cock. Stewy has always liked the feeling of Kendall against his palm: warm, incredibly sensitive, his skin soft and only Stewy’s to touch, at least for a moment. Stewy strokes him the way he knows Kendall likes, setting the rhythm, gentle and steady and somewhat predictable. He can tell when Kendall is about to come, the way his hands grip whatever they can find, how his thighs seem to tense and his eyelids flutter closed. Kendall groans and Stewy knows he’s gone before he can even feel Kendall’s cum warm and sticky on his fingers.

“Stewy—” Kendall stutters. “Stew—I think I’m— _fuck_ —”

Kendall tenses up and Stewy instinctively holds him closer. “Hey, it’s alright. You’re good, Ken. You’re okay. That’s it.”

Stewy strokes Kendall’s cock a few more times before allowing Kendall to collect himself. Kendall’s breathing evens out, his muscles eventually relaxing. Stewy presses a kiss against Kendall’s sweaty temple then takes his hand out of Kendall’s underwear. He wipes his fingers off on the tree behind his head, which makes Kendall laugh. Stewy feels the vibration against his stomach.

“Uh, people usually carve their names on those things, dude, like, uh, in hearts?” Kendall says. “Not wipe, well, you know what on it.”

Stewy rolls his eyes at him. “What? Do you want me to write S + K with it? Because I fucking will, dude.”

“Uh, no. No fucking way.” Kendall wrinkles his nose as he rolls off of Stewy to zip his jeans back up. Stewy does the same. Kendall sits back on his heels and looks at the tree again, head slightly tilted to the side. “Okay, wait. S + K. How come your initial gets to go first?”

“I dunno.” Stewy shrugs. “Artistic choice?”

Kendall shoots him a look. “Okay, well, I’m older than you, bro. So, it should be K + S.”

"By like three months,” Stewy bites back. “You can’t play the seniority card when it’s only three months.”

“Uh, who says? Also, it’s my cum.”

Stewy shoves Kendall with the toe of his sneaker, pushing down his laughter. “Fuck off.”

Kendall smiles, a real smile, wide and gummy and boomerang-shaped. Stewy feels his heart pound, and he can’t hold it in anymore. He laughs, loudly, falling back against the grass. Kendall comes over and lays down beside him. There are still no stars to look at, just the vague haze of the moon through the clouds and the budding tree branches.

“Well, if we’re gonna die out here people need something to remember us by,” Kendall says. “Right?”

“No, they don’t,” Stewy replies. “And who the fuck says we’re dying out here?”

Kendall snorts. “Oh, so now you’re optimistic?” 

Stewy looks over at him, admiring the premature creases around Kendall’s eyes as he grins, the residual baby fat in his cheeks, the pieces of hair that refuse to lay flat on his head. Stewy wants to kiss him again. He almost does, but then he hears the door suddenly creak open. A janitor exits the building. He’s wheeling a garbage can behind him, mop in hand and an overstuffed key ring clinking on his belt.

“Oh fuck,” Kendall says, quickly propping himself up on his elbows.

He smiles again. Stewy smiles back. The door teeters on its hinges, and a part of Stewy wishes they could just let it close.

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a throwaway but I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
